Catherine

Catherine Lysle would often sit at her bedroom window watching the boats out at sea, her house over looked the harbour, so much so it was known as, "The house over the water." She knew the fishermen, she had grown up with most of them, she had married one.
James Lysle hauled his nets and was satisfied with the catch, it was cold, it was November, it was 1780 when men relied on fish and luck and knowing the weather. Clouds were building in the West, a blow was coming, with a fair catch it was best to head home; around the bay other boats had set sail and were bound back to the shelter of the harbour.
From her window Catherine could see the darkening sky, she felt a cold chill upon her back but remained watching, waiting for the familiar figure of her husband to come sailing around the Quay head. The tide was slipping away, boats were gathering, men, home and safe looked out at the remaining boats as they were met by the freshening breeze.

Things happen when you're in a hurry, when you least expect, when one thing on your mind takes over for a second from the things you should be concentrating on, the things you would normally do automatically. Just for a second James looked away; Catherine was at the window, just for a second he saw her, she was looking, searching out to sea, just for a second he didn't notice the gust of wind, the cracking billow, the loose rope, just for a second, a second too long.

Catherine could see a boat just off the Quay, she thought something looked wrong, was that a man in the water? was that James? she froze at the window unable to look away. The crew of the boat hauling at the heavy wet lug sails were trying to bring the boat about, but were drifting away from the man in the water, lines thrown failed to reach him. Other boats noticing that something was wrong were bearing down, frantically men were launching small boats from the shore intent on reaching him.
Catherine watched, she didn't see the boats heading in, she didn't notice the men pulling out, she was unaware of the changing weather, the screaming gulls, the breaking seas or the cruel rain just starting. She saw only the man in the water, she saw only James.

James never saw the boats heading towards him, his own boat drifting away or the lines thrown too short towards him, he never heard the calls of the men or the gulls or the seas as they broke around him, James only saw Catherine. Catherine cried.
Catherine was buried on the 15th of May in 1830, she was 90 years old. For the passed 50 years she had mourned her James and been labelled as a "Lunatic." She had loved her James.
Catherine's cottage has since been known as "Crazy Kates Cottage." Today it is my home but it will always be her home first.

SHOCK HERRING NET THEFT

"It was never like it in my day!" How often have you heard your father or grandfather say that? and how many times have you said you'll never say it, but found yourself repeating it continually to your own children? I have lived endlessly in Clovelly, I have fished and tripped my years away, never earning a living but slowly blending into my surroundings, slowly becoming my father. It is now I can say, "It was never like it in my day!" Things don't seem to change for the better, the respect, the values and the principles of the village, the open door, the watching eye, the places you did not go and the things you just did not do. Why is it we have to be shaken into reality at the cruel hands of some sneak in the dark thief!

This last week I removed my Herring nets from my boat, finally signalling the end of another season, the nets were put into an open shed, with the intention of moving them to a safer place soon after, though as it appears not soon enough! Somebody or somebodies unknown have taken it upon themselves to take five of the nets leaving me with three; maybe I should be grateful for the three, but I find I am angry, with myself for not having moved them sooner. The nets are not new, I look after the nets, washing, mending, repairing them each year, most were over ten years old, but they each had a story; like the day I caught a 13 foot basking shark and had to tow it back to the harbour so we could free it from the nets and release it back to sea, it took two weeks of mending to fix the nets then!! Or the day the nets sunk under the wieght of 3000 fish, the largest catch of herrings since 1976, or of the celebrities like Rick Stein, Marco Pierre White, Mike Smylie and most recently BBC's Countryfile that have helped haul the nets.

But they are gone, probably sold for beer money or worse money! Someone feels satisfied with their nights work, I hope they are happy. For me it means I have to find £400 in order to replace them before the next season, unless of course any of you hear anything and kindly let me know; and I really can say without fear of contradiction, "It was never like it in my day!"

Early days

The sounds of the sea rushing into the harbour, chorused by the pleading cries of the greed hungry seagulls opens the year, opens this January; the herring shoals are spent and sparse, no longer the fishermans prey, as they pack their bags and leave the bay, having played and spawned they swim back up along the Irish Sea, until next Michaelmas, when nets and boats shall go out again.

Now the days are cold and thin of people. Jobs to do mount up, waiting in line for that warmer day, that drier day, that one day soon. We fish still the chilled waters, if any fish remain; this is the time for cod and sole with nets set upon the bottom, gill nets, trammel nets. Nets set close to rough ground to catch those feeding cod, if they're lucky enough to escape the busy trawlers roaming outside the bay. Trammel nets set on muddier ground for door mat Dover sole and pleasant plaice, but all too often a pack of always hungry dogfish, huss, murgies, hound the nets, caught by collar and cuff, yellow nosed, mud sniffing, bottom hounds. Why is it that what we need to see, that we try to catch, any fish worthy of the plate, we fail to find?
Clearing East winds have swept the bay and left it empty of fish, with only an occasional whiting or sand dab as a sacrificial offering.

But with the weather frostfull and icy still, the clear air gives perfect views of the sheltering bay, the hard brown leafless cliffs, the fresh watered waterfall dropping to the beach. This is the prize of fishing, the scenes unseen by most, the life that's not rich in pennies but worthy of a look. Early days for catching fish but perfect days for appreciating where we live.

This is our time of preparation, of getting ready, sorting, repairing, making anew, for too soon the time will run away and other seasons shall fall fast upon us; skate will find the mud, it is their breeding bay aswell and we'll be keen to catch some. Lobster pots, saved from last years service, will be pressed again, looking for rich reward. So though the harbour rolls with Atlantic swells and quiet are the village steps, in hidden corners, lofts and sheds, Clovelly fishermen still knot and splice and scheme and dream.

New resolve

So here we are, close hauled and bound for the shelter of the harbour, our safe haven from the winter gales. I expect by now many of the resolutions convincingly made, are now to be found washed up broken and discarded upon the grey cruel shore of the New Year. We've survived, just! the Red Lion and festive indulgence to stagger into the irresponsible youth of January, fishing empty nets for no profits, with frozen hands and wet boots, watching spring tides raging through the bay, rattling windows with the icy, numbing East winds. Soon it will be time to set to and repair the ravages of gale and storm, wind and wave, as the Centuries old Quay wall succumbs to the constant finger picking of the sea, small holes becoming larger holes becoming noticeable; so bucketed and trowelled, armed with sand and cement, I come to fill, shore up, restore, replace, repair; putting right as best I can, the elements reclaiming wrongs and prolonging the life of the Quay.

What next? A whole untouched year ahead, full steam ahead; brimming with potential delights, events and festivals, a harbour of entertainment, lobster feasts, maritime extravaganzas, gig racing regatta's, showing off lifeboat day's. The "fit for a film set harbour," welcoming in visiting yachts, returning friends and first time explorers, a welcome sight and a sad farewell. People shall sit lining the wall with pint and picnic looking back at a village ignoring time; others will swim and leap, faith bound into the full Quay, while fishing boats continue doing as they've always done and head out and return home, work done, as for those of us that live here, we go into the new year with new resolve and take each day head on, we are fishermen, we are boatmen and this is our home.

Passing the baton

Following Chief Coast guard, "John Bumby's," rescue of the crew of the "Odone", in 1869, the RNLI established a station at Clovelly. In 1870 the first appointed Coxswain was Master Mariner, "John Elliot." John Elliots daughter,"Susan," married local fisherman and lifeboat man,"Thomas Jenn," they had three sons and a daughter, "Alice." Alice Jenn married a Bucks Mills fisherman named, "Bert Braund" and they settled in Clovelly where Bert fished and took his seat onboard the lifeboat; they also had a son, "Tom," who followed in his father's footsteps and became a fisherman and lifeboat man. Tom was to have six sons, four of which, over the years, became involved with the lifeboat; the youngest son, "Edward," served on the offshore 70 ft Lifeboats before the station was closed by the RNLI in 1988, he then became a crewman on the independant lifeboat until the RNLI re-established the station in 1998; Edward then took on the role of a deputy launching authority, rising to become the stations "Honorary Secretary," or as it's titled today the "Lifeboat Operations Manager," a role he held until this Christmas when he decided to pass the baton onto the very capable station mechanic, "Nigel Eveliegh." Edward though, has not left the station completely, he has only resumed his position as a deputy launcher and will be as active as before about the station. Edwards brother "Christopher," is also involved with the lifeboat, previously a crewman and Helmsman, today he is one of our most important launching tractor drivers and has had to put the boat out in some harrowing circumstances. So from 1870 up to the present day a member of Edwards family has been involved with Clovelly's lifeboat.

The foundations of stations like Clovelly are laid by people like Edward, whose unquestioned service and dedication are an example for us all to admire. Lifeboat stations like Clovelly are not about the RNLI, they're about the people who man the boat, the people who patiently wait behind; the people who stand scarved and gloved on the cold streets waving collection boxes, the people who stop what they are doing and think when they hear the boat has been launched, who wait at vantage points gazing at the restless sea, for it to return, it's about the village, the small huddled community, the traditions, new and old, that hold them altogether; and it's people like Edward, ordinary, everyday people that make us proud to be a part of the station.

Edward may be moving sideways in his role within the lifeboat, but as an employee of the Clovelly Estate Company, he will never be far from the village, Edward is another of those great oaks that make up the woodland that is our village, he's funny, he's gracious, a great father and he's the best friend anyone could have.
We wish Nigel luck and the best ever wishes in his New Year new role, he knows he has the unstinting support of the station, the complete trust of the crew but much more importantly, he has the love and support of his family; who could wish for more.